


In Vino Veritas

by doctoraicha



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctoraicha/pseuds/doctoraicha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Pendragon is a gay Viscount. Merlin is a magic Viscount, but no one knows that. And he's not gay! REALLY. No, seriously. He isn't. Arthur is smitten. Merlin is a jealous sod and sends lots of mixed signals. Everyone ends up happy in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Vino Veritas

Arthur threw himself on the ground next to the bench at the side of the pitch. He was breathing hard. It had been a tough loss for Harrow, but he was proud of the boys anyway. Their keeper, Lance, their solid midfield (Gawain, Elyan, and Owen), his ace defense, led by Merlin, and him up front with some talented underclassmen – well, they hadn’t won, and it was a disappointment.

Coach K dropped a bottle of water on the ground next to him. “Budge up, Pendragon. Get out there and congratulate the winners.”

He did, of course; he was Lord Arthur Pendragon, Viscount Avalon, heir of  Uther Pendragon, 8th Marquess of Ailsbury, Earl of Cardigan, Earl Winchester. It would never _due_ to give Eton the proverbial two finger salute, no matter how bad the refereeing had been. No matter how he wanted to. No matter if he was 18 and leaving school in a few weeks to go up to Oxford.

The team hit the showers. Arthur chanced a quick glance at Gawain. Nothing.

A quick glance at Lance, hair half down his neck contrary to the school rules... nothing.

He looked then at Merlin, damp from the showers and barely wrapped in a towel.

He looked away, willing himself not to get hard. His obsession was getting _inconvenient_ as hell.

He had admitted to himself that he had a serious _thing_ for his best mate, Merlin Rhionydd. Viscount Emrys, heir of the Earl of Glamorgan, in Wales. He was tall, somewhat gangly, with stick out ears that Arthur secretly wanted to use as _handles_. And he was lithe, with dark hair and blue eyes that Arthur saw in his head when he wanked. 

Arthur had come out to his father over the Christmas holidays. It hadn’t gone precisely well, but after all his father loved him and so he hadn’t been exactly disowned. Still, he was planning a bit of a tour across Europe in order to let his father get a bit more used to the idea before Arthur went off to Uni. It wasn’t the Grand Tour of the Regency aristocracy, but he was going to go for a two week holiday in Italy. With Merlin.

What Arthur hadn’t done is come out to any of his friends. He knew he could count on the lads to back him up, but it just hadn’t come up. Well, he hadn’t forced it, anyway. It was complicated by the burgeoning crush he’d been developing for two months  on his best mate.

He was resolved to tell him, at least, at the next opportunity.  Not about the crush, no; Merlin dated girls, when he dated at all. So, not the crush thing. Just the being gay thing.

Arthur’d been sitting there on a bench in the shower room for at least 15 minutes, most of the others having gone on to the Junction, a colorful student hangout for older Harrow students and those at the University of Westminster. “Coming to the pub, mate?” Merlin asked, rounding the corner. “Came back to get you.”

“Yeah,” Arthur assented, blushing slightly at having been caught staring into space thinking about being gay by his best mate. And his crush.

They left together, walking toward the pub. Merlin gave him a sideways look. “You’ve been acting a bit odd, Arthur,” he said. “Something bothering you? Trouble with some bird?” Merlin was oddly stiff and he looked as if he really cared about Arthur’s answer.

Arthur’s chance had come before he’d had a chance to think it through. Well, it was not for nothing that his ancestors led men into battle. He took a deep breath, and blew it out. “Merlin, I’m gay.”

Merlin looked a bit shocked, and seemed to cast around for something to say. “But, Sofia? Last year?” His ears went red and one hand jerked, as if Merlin wanted to reach out for something to hold onto. As if he was thrown totally off balance by Arthur’s admission.

Arthur shrugged. “She was alright, but, you know. No sparks.” In fact, it had been a rather embarrassing, fumbling loss of his virginity to the older Uni student that had cemented it.

“Are you… are you seeing someone?” Merlin managed, flush rising from his neck to color his cheeks.

“No.”

“Then how do you know?” he asked. “Have you been with a guy?”

“I just do,” Arthur said. “Did you have to be with a bird to know you fancied them?”

Merlin looked taken aback. “Well, no,” he said. “But you play footie!”

Arthur raise an eyebrow and popped Merlin in the head . “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “Being gay has nothing to do with it. I’m not going to take up decorating and bad pop music just because I fancy blokes.”

Merlin considered for a moment. “Well, yeah, okay. That was kind of stupid. Does anyone else know?”

“I told Father and Morgana at Christmas.”

“Did your Da flip?”

“Well, he wasn’t thrilled, but after all he’s my father.”

“My Da would _freak_ ,” Merlin said. Arthur’s heart leapt; he looked over quickly. Merlin blushed. “Not that I’m gay. Just, you know,” he said.  There was a short, but awkward, pause. “Come on, we’re here, let’s get a pint.” They did, and found their way to a couple of empty seats at a table next to Lance’s.

Arthur’s heart having soured so high for two seconds, had crashed back to earth. He swallowed his first sip of ale hard. “Still coming to Italy this summer?” he asked.

Merlin’s eyebrows drew together. He all but whispered, “Don’t be a prat, mate, of course I’m still coming. I don’t care who you shag.”

Arthur grinned, but knew that his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. Merlin didn’t care who he shagged. But what if he wanted to shag _Merlin_?

****

They left school; happy (for the most part), winners (except the Eton match) and with a respectable number of A levels each (well, Elyan had one more than the others, but who was counting?). In a bustle of Bentleys, parents and drivers came to fetch Britain’s next generation of leaders, who for the most part still looked a bunch of scruffy kids. Merlin’s Mum came alone, she and Lord Glamorgan having divorced years before. Lady Morgana came with Lord Ailsbury, her Laboutines crunching on the gravel drive and her figure drawing more than one set of eyes. Morgana was in a gap year; she intended to head to St. Andrews in September. Arthur teased her unmercifully about being on the catch for Prince William, who was a distant cousin of their Mum’s, but she was clearly more interested in art history than modern royalty.

Elyan’s younger sister arrived with her parents, and Lance looked like someone had punched the air out of him; Elyan looked like he might truly want to punch the air out of Lance; Gwen held Elyan’s forearm as she shook hands with Lance, and looked up at her elder brother. Arthur saw her give him a wink, and Elyan grinned ruefully down.

Arthur thought he might want to be a fly on the wall of a conversation where Gwen told Elyan off. It would be damned amusing to see the big guy give in when his sister stood up to him.

Arthur hugged Hunith and thanked her for loaning him Merlin; he reminded his best mate that they were flying to Florence in less than two weeks, and he shook hands gravely with both Merlin and Gawain before they all burst out laughing.

His dad and his sister waiting, he took his leave of his old school, his heart giving a pang that he might _not_ get to send a son here, as Pendragons had done for generations.

****

Because his father was not only an English Marquess, he was also rich as sin, Arthur and Merlin flew Business class to Pisa on British Airways, and had an Italian driver, who Arthur knew worked for his father’s company, drive them to Florence. The driver was on call for their use; Arthur was already trying to work out a way to ditch the babysitter. But it turned out that Enzo Mancini was about 25, up for a lark, and good fun. A Roman by birth, he worked for Sir Uther’s company in the Milan branch as a corporate driver. Enzo thought that spending 3 weeks tooling around his home country wherever the boys wanted to go was as good as a vacation, so Arthur resolved to put up with him.

They were driven right into the city centre. where Arthur’s father had booked rooms at the Relais Santa Croce, a hotel in an 18th century palazzo in the heart of Florence. He’d apparently booked the rooms using the boys’ titles, because the hotel manager was on hand to greet them. After dropping their bags in the room, Merlin and Arthur went to do what all young British lads do when let loose on a foreign country.

They went to a bar and got pissed on fine Italian wine, of course.

****

They woke the next morning far more alert than they had any right to be. Meeting for breakfast, they decided to take in some sights. Arthur dismissed Enzo, who didn’t look the least put out, and struck out into the city alone. They managed to take in a large number of sights and artwork, ate far too much pasta, and yet again drank far more wine than they really should have done.

The next day they set off for Milan, the next stop on the tour. They decided to take one of those cheesy red bus tours, and then wound up at a very posh and very exclusive dance club. They were probably very underdressed, but evidently Enzo’s cousin ran the place and he was pleased to let two young, rich, titled English guys into the club.

Arthur was sitting in an alcove drinking some kind of green concoction when a lanky Frenchman slipped into the booth. “Your boyfriend’s dancing with a woman,” he said, by way of introduction.

“Don’t have a boyfriend,” Arthur said, just drunk enough to be pleased with himself.

The man smiled. “I’m Olivier. Dance with me?”

“Arthur. And are you sure?”

“Ah, you English. So straight laced.”

“Not so straight,” Arthur said.

Oliver leaned in, and slipped a caressing hand around Arthur’s neck. “But what about the guy with you?’

“Just my best mate,” Arthur whispered. This Olivier was stunning, all brown hair and green eyes and chiseled jaw.  “Why don’t we skip the dancing?”

Oliver took the hint and kissed him. Arthur hummed approval; this was what was missing from kissing women. Oliver was solid, not at all round and soft. Arthur felt himself stir, and opened his mouth to kiss Olivier more fully.

“Having fun?” Merlin’s voice broke into the haze that seemed to have lodged itself in Arthur’s brain. He’d have sworn Merlin’s eyes glowed gold for a moment; it must have been the lighting. “You’re in my seat, _mate_ ,” he said to Olivier in clipped tones.

Olivier narrowed his eyes at Arthur. “You didn’t have to lie. I’d have fucked you anyway,” he said, sliding out of the booth.

Merlin took the vacated seat, waves of anger radiating off him.

“What’s the problem?” Arthur asked.

“My back’s turned for a second and you’re kissing some random stranger!” Merlin said.

“What the hell does that have to do with anything? You were dancing with someone.”

“S’different, though,” he said.

“Merlin, are you sure you don’t have a problem with me being gay?” Arthur said, getting angry.

Merlin shook his head. “Of course not! But this is our trip,” he said, apropos of nothing.

Arthur made no immediate reply. He leaned back into the bench seat and closed his eyes. He swiped a hand across his face and opened his eyes. “Look, Merlin, just drink  your beer and let’s get out of here.”

“No way,” he said, stubborn lines setting in around his mouth. “I’m just getting started.”

Three hours and at least 5 or 6 drinks (for Merlin, anyway) later, Arthur was practically dragging Merlin up the stairs to their first floor room. Merlin was so blitzed that Arthur was afraid he might choke to death on his own vomit; it was his curse that he actually _cared_ whether the arsehole _died_. So Arthur, opening the door to his room, half dragged Merlin inside.

On the other hand, he was no saint, so he dropped Merlin on the couch and went to change. He did bring the bastard two tablets of paracetemol and a glass of water. Merlin had to be coaxed to drink it; Arthur left him another on the table next to the couch, knowing Merlin would wake with a vicious case of dry mouth sometime in the night. Then he took himself off to the bed, sliding between the cotton sheets and sighing into the pillow top mattress.

****

Arthur woke up from yet another erotic dream about Merlin feeling too warm, totally aroused, and very, very confused. It was about 5 am, if the predawn light filtering through the shaded windows was anything  to go on, and Arthur was not alone in the bed. Sometime since midnight, when he’d dumped Emrys on the sofa, Merlin had climbed into bed with Arthur and was curled around him, hand on Arthur’s naked chest and nose nuzzling Arthur’s neck. Arthur was hard, which wasn’t that unusual, since he was 19 and healthy, and he was so aroused that he could feel his precum slicking his pajama bottoms.

What was even more surprising, though, was that Merlin also seemed to be hard, and not only that, he was shifting his hips slightly against Arthur’s arse, and making the kind of small noises that Arthur _dreamed about_. He was instantly alert and in equal measures desperate both to escape and to turn to Merlin and kiss him awake.

Arthur chose escape. This woke Merlin, who threw himself onto the other side of the bed with a muffled exclamation. Arthur chanced a glance back at him, and noticed again the flash of gold in Merlin’s eyes that he’d thought he must have imagined at the club, and saw what was in those same eyes as Merlin looked at him.

Confusion, embarrassment, desire, dismay.

The dismay cut Arthur to the heart.

But he went to the bathroom and had a rather desperate wank anyway.

****

Merlin made no mention of the incident. He was gone when Arthur emerged from the loo, and when they finally crawled out of bed and downstairs around noon, Merlin’s ears went red but he otherwise acted as if nothing happened.

Enzo laughed at them for their hangovers and told them that Italians were never hungover.

They made their way across several small towns in Northern Italy, intent on their goal: Venice. Twice more Merlin wound up in bed with Arthur, both times while seemingly falling down drunk. Once they were in the same room, in a tiny town in the Veneto where there was a serious room shortage, but another time when he’d gone to bed in his own room across the hall and managed somehow to sleepwalk into Arthur’s room and _climb into his bed_. Through a deadbolt-locked door. That Merlin couldn’t, or wouldn’t, explain how he’d opened.

It all came to a head in Venice.

Once again Arthur was kissing a guy he’d just met in a bar. Once again Merlin went a little mad, only this time he practically dragged Arthur back across the street to their hotel.

“I’m not your fucking experiment, and I’m sure as hell not your _boyfriend,”_ Arthur shouted, once inside his room. “Why the hell are you acting like a jealous lover and crawling into my bed? You said you’re not fucking gay!”

Merlin whirled on him, visibly shaking. Arthur went still and silent. Merlin was shouting, but Arthur didn’t – couldn’t – hear what he was saying.

Merlin’s eyes were _gold_. This time there was no mistake about it. Merlin was working himself into a state, and while Arthur was staring at his eyes, he was aware that Merlin made a sweeping motion with his arm and suddenly, suddenly, _all of Arthur’s luggage was throwing itself into the floor_.

Merlin jerked then, stopped shouting, went still.

 _“What_ ,” Arthur asked, “the hell was _that_?”

“What do you think it was?” Merlin shouted, angry again. “I’m _magic_ ,” he said, advancing on an Arthur who couldn’t seem to move away and grasping his chin. “Does that scare you? Because maybe it should.” And then he kissed Arthur.

Arthur tasted desperation, fear, anger, and frustration. He wasn’t sure whether he was tasting himself or Merlin, but of their own volition his arms went around the other man, snaking into his hair, clutching at his back. Merlin moaned, or maybe it was Arthur, and slid a leg between Arthur’s thighs. Arthur was suddenly, _achingly,_  hard, and he rubbed himself against Merlin’s leg like some kind of _dog_ and then Merlin was pulling away, face in his hands, voice broken, eyes blue again.

“I can’t…” he whispered. “I can’t be gay. Da already hates what I can do, hates me, thinks my Mum’s a freak and won’t have anything to do with me if I do anything the least bit weird and I…. I can’t be gay, too.”

Arthur stood there, pupils blown, kissed out, while Merlin stalked from the room.

****

Venice was… uncomfortable. Getting there was quiet and tense; Enzo’s questioning eyes met theirs a few times in the car, but otherwise he remained silent. They checked into two rooms at the Palazzo where they were staying, and never spoke.

They still saw a ton of sights together, but barely spoke more than one or two words to each other, both following their original itinerary without much thought for several days. Arthur was angry, and annoyed, and confused as hell. He still _wanted_ , but he didn’t want to be someone’s experiment. He didn’t want a drunken fumble with his best mate to ruin everything.

On the last day in Venice, deep in the Doge’s Palace, Arthur leaned his head against the slit window of the Bridge of Sighs. He understood what torture this was to the prisoner – to be tantalized with that view of freedom but to know you couldn’t have it. It was like kissing Merlin – he had been teased with a taste of what he’d wanted, _badly_ , for months, and it had been taken away. Both hands thrust in his pockets, he gave a shuddering sigh.

A gasp startled him from his reverie; Merlin had crested the bride returning from the prison side of the Palace. He was staring at Arthur, pupils wide in the low light. They stood like that for a few moments, until Merlin moved, broke eye contact, came toward Arthur, intent on brushing past him in the narrow space. He paused, level with Arthur, but still not meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Arthur tried to grab his arm but missed; Merlin was down the other side of the bridge.

Arthur swore.

****

He hadn’t seen Merlin again until the next morning, when they met with Enzo at check out for the trip to Rome. It was a long ride, made excruciating by Merlin’s steadfast refusal to meet Arthur’s eyes. Enzo kept up a rather stunted and artificially cheerful conversation with Arthur, who grasped gladly at the lifeline and gave as good as he got. Sitting in the front seat with Enzo, he could see Merlin get progressively more stiff and angry as the drive wore on. By the time they arrived at the villa on the outskirts of Rome, where they would stay for the last week of their trip, Merlin was practically radiating anger and disapproval. He stomped into Arthur’s dad’s holiday house and went immediately upstairs to a bedroom where he’d stayed on a school holiday when they were fifteen and slammed the door so hard that Arthur felt the ceiling shake.

Arthur ignored Merlin the rest of the evening, not even calling him to dinner. If the git wanted to act like a 12 year old _emo girl_ he’d let him. Only he was sick of it and wanted nothing more than to enjoy his last week of holidays laying by the pool and checking out nightclubs in Rome.

Late that night, the heat of the Roman summer radiating up off the pavers, Arthur padded out to the pool clad only in a pair of boxer briefs. It was hot, too hot to sleep. It was dark and quiet, and Arthur turned on the pool lights. He slipped into the water, luxuriating in the cool, floating on his back and thinking of nothing.

A strangled noise brought him back to himself, and Arthur opened his eyes to see Merlin standing at the pool’s edge, staring at him. He swam to the edge of the pool and climbed the stairs, coming around the side to stand in Merlin’s space. Merlin’s eyes never left him; if he wasn’t Arthur Pendragon, trained from infancy to bluff it out, he’d never have been able to do it. His eyes never left Merlin’s, watching them go gold. He refused to back down.

“It’s you I want, you know. Not Enzo, whatever you were thinking in the car. It doesn’t have to be this fucking difficult,” he added, bringing a hand up to Merlin’s waist.  

Merlin’s eyes closed, then, a deep exhale sending warm breath across Arthur’s face.

“Merlin,” Arthur coaxed. “Tell me you want me, too.”

“I… I can’t, Arthur.”

“You want to.”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t give a damn what your bastard of a father thinks, though, do you?”

“The magic…”

“The magic is _fucking hot_ , you idiot.”

A smile settled in Merlin’s eyes. “You think so? It’s not… it doesn’t…”

“Imagine what you could do to me with it. What you could do _to us_.”

The smile left Merlin’s eyes, replaced by fear and lust. “God, Arthur,” Merlin said. “Standing there, dripping, saying obscene things and making me want. It’s hard enough to control the magic when you’re around.”

“Want me?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, and, having said it, he turned and hurried away.

Arthur stood there looking after him. It was a hollow victory.

***

Next day, Merlin didn’t pretend. He didn’t make any effort to do anything, but he didn’t try to deny what he wanted. Arthur didn’t want to push him too hard. He knew that admitting you fancied blokes wasn’t always easy. He was also pretty sure Merlin’s Da really would go ballistic, but he was a son of a bitch, according to Lord Ailsbury, so Arthur didn’t much care. Merlin hadn’t even seen him more than 6 or 7 times in years. Merlin fell asleep on a pool lounger near him; he couldn’t help lying on the next lounger and staring at Merlin’s long limbs and pale skin. After a while he decided he’d better wake Merlin so he wouldn’t sunburn. Arthur himself tanned a deep gold, but Merlin just went all lobster colored.

“Wake up, idiot,” Arthur said.

“Waaah? Mrff.” Merlin said.

Arthur laughed. “Budge up, you great lump, and put on more sun cream before you’re as red as Father’s Bugatti.”

Merlin jerked awake then, grabbed the sun cream, and began to apply it. He rubbed it on his legs, stomach, under the edge of his swim shorts. Arthur was mesmerized, watching the progress of Merlin’s long, elegant fingers across his abdomen. When Merlin reach upward to spread the lotion across his chest, Arthur’s mouth went dry, and he swallowed, eyes behind sunglasses meeting Merlin’s. Merlin’s pupils were blown wide, and Arthur knew his must be, too.

“Do my back,” Merlin said.

A few seconds past before Arthur registered that Merlin had been talking to him. “What?” he said, stupidly, as Merlin got up and shifted himself around. He sat on the foot of Arthur’s lounger.

“Do my back,” he murmured, passing the cream back to Arthur, who took it.

Sliding hands across Merlin’s shoulders was torture. He slicked cream down Merlin’s back to his waist and lower, sliding just under the edge of the swim shorts. Merlin shuddered as Arthur brought hands up his sides to slide around his shoulders and graze his collarbone. Arthur went rock hard; Merlin leaned back to rest his head on Arthur’s shoulders.

Arthur’s hands went around Merlin, dragging him flush against him. Merlin _whimpered_ at the feel of Arthur’s erection. Merlin’s own cock swelled against the material of his swim shorts, and he bit out, “Fuck, Arthur.”

“If you want,” Arthur murmured into his ear. “But not out here where the help will see.”

Merlin shivered, and cocked his head back to kiss at Arthur’s neck. It was uncomfortable, but so, so sweet, when Arthur claimed Merlin’s mouth with his own.

***

It didn’t go beyond that, that first day. They snuck secret kisses all over the villa, and were caught twice by the housekeeper, but anything below the waist seemed to be too much for Merlin, and they went to bed separately.

When Arthur awoke with Merlin wrapped around his back, this time, at least, he knew the other boy wasn’t drunk. Merlin was mouthing Arthur’s ear, and rather than claiming his chest, Merlin’s hand was much lower, rubbing circles above Arthur’s cock.

They were both hard, Arthur realized.

“I want you, I want you, I want you,” Merlin was whispering brokenly. “You’ve got me so worked up. I couldn’t even have a proper wank, and I damn sure couldn’t sleep. Feel what you do to me..”

He thrust his cock against Arthur, who flipped around to kiss him, one hand sliding across Merlin’s waist to slip into the small of his back. His other hand flitted across the skin of Merlin’s chest. Arthur slipped his hand lower, cupping Merlin’s ass through his boxers. Merlin made a strangled noise and thrust against him, cocks dragging against their pants, making Arthur aware that he was in serious danger of embarrassing himself if he didn’t get control.

He shifted his hips back, away from Merlin, and slid a hand down between them. He brushed the back of his fingers against Merlin’s cock through his pants, asked “Alright?”, took his answer in the form of Merlin’s bucking hips. He slipped two fingers under Merlin’s waistband, and then his whole hand, cupped the jut of the other boy’s hip and tucked his face against Merlin’s neck. He licked experimentally, scraped his teeth against Merlin’s neck, and tongued against the stubble. He thrust then, and Merlin moaned.

“Get out of your pants,” Merlin said, coherent for the first time since Arthur had awoken. Eager to comply, Arthur wrenched himself away from Merlin and stripped off, throwing his pant somewhere in the direction of the floor.

“You too,” he begged.

“Hell yes,” Merlin said. He lifted himself and struggled to remove his pants, laughing a bit when they got caught on his erection, and Arthur grinned. He wasn’t too helpful, was Arthur, but he managed to let go of Merlin’s hip long enough to get Merlin naked, naked at last, naked like in all his better wank fantasies.

It was over pathetically quickly, both of them worked up beyond endurance. Their cocks touched, and Arthur’s shaking hand had taken them together and pulled once, twice, and three times, and it was over. Merlin cried out, Arthur pressed a kiss to his mouth, kissing up his face to place reverent caresses on Merlin’s closed eyes.

“Arthur,” Merlin murmured, and fell asleep.

***

_Three and a half years later…_

“The Earl of Glamorgan and Viscount Avalon,” the elderly retainer intoned, announcing society’s favorite young artistocrats, Their Highnesses Will and Harry notwithstanding. It was their college graduation party, thrown for them by Arthur’s father. It was formal to the point of ridiculousness, but their mates were meeting them down the pub tomorrow, so tonight could be for their parents and their parents’ friends.

Merlin’s father, bitter and resentful as he was, had dropped dead at the news that his son wasn’t just Arthur Pendragon’s _roommate_ at Oxford. Sir Uther had taken it considerably better; after all, it hardly mattered as succession was determined by legal relationship in modern Britain. This way his heirs would have _even more titles_ than he had, and he couldn’t see anything wrong with that.

Hunith was thrilled that Arthur was enthralled with Merlin’s magic, rather than repulsed, and all their mates had been public school boys so a bit of guy on guy didn’t bother any of them in the least. Being gay, rich, aristocrats made them poster boys for Gay Pride everywhere, but all that really mattered was each other.

Best mates were the best bed mates, after all.

 

 

_finis_


End file.
